


Strike

by sweet_villain_x



Category: ACOMAF - Fandom, ACOTAR, Nessian - Fandom, acofas, acowar - Fandom
Genre: Complete, F/M, Fluff, Nessian - Freeform, pure xmas fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_villain_x/pseuds/sweet_villain_x
Summary: I needed some Xmas nessian fluff in my life and SJM is slacking so guess I have to do it myself.Nesta's been in the mountains reflecting on her actions. Cassian's sent to bring her back for Solstice.COMPLETE!
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 28
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first work of fanfic ever, so please be kind! holidays are a busy time but hoping to get some more chapters up before christmas

Nesta wanted to know what was in the box. 

She had many regrets about the last Solstice she’d passed as High Fae, but that was the biggest one. She had walked home that night with her single gift, that box of books from Elain, and read them all the next day. She hadn’t thought - hadn’t let herself think - about the box or the winged male she was sure had watched her go all the way home. 

She was thinking about him now, though. 

She sighed and stoked the fire in the little cabin she called her own. It was more a room than a cabin, really, but she didn’t mind, as long as she didn’t have to share it. No doubt something  _ he  _ had done, knowing being locked in a room with all those other bodies would….

Nesta shuddered. It had taken her exactly thirty-seven days after arriving in the mountains to grow desperate enough to light the fire. 

The Illyrian mountains were a harsh, cold place. Like her. It wasn’t that she felt less that way these days, but she was learning to control it. Slowly. With every strike of a sword, every landing of a fist. 

Elain had her garden, and that was fine. She was still the best of them. She always would be. Even Feyre, little Feyre, with her High Lord for a mate and that beautiful house on the river and the classes she gave - they were rebuilding by fixing. 

Not Nesta. Because what did she have? She couldn’t paint, couldn’t keep a plant alive to save her light. No, Nesta was a  _ taker.  _ Nesta needed to hit things. 

She relished every bruise, every sore muscle. Once she’d even broken a finger. The pain was the first thing she’d felt in months. 

And now - 

She stared down at the things laid out on her little table. She had no idea who she was supposed to get presents for, or why, or what any of them besides Amren would want. She had been surprised to receive Feyre’s invitation at all, considering what had happened the last time they’d seen each other. But it had come, a dark envelope with their seal, laid out on the table after she’d got home from practice. She’d made a note to have a word with Feyre about letting her mate  _ teleport  _ things into her house, but she’d opened the letter all the same. All it said was: 

_ See you at Solstice. You’re family, whether you like it or not _ . 

No mention of when or where it was or how she was getting there. But of course, Nesta already knew.

Cassian. 

She hadn’t seen him since he brought her up here, and she’d screamed at him until her throat was hoarse. He’d stood there and took every last word of it, and she had hated him for that. Hated him for staying. For not fighting back. 

She always wanted him to fight back. She wanted him to be as cruel and vicious as her. 

But he wasn’t. He’d stood there and watched her. Then all he’d said was “Good luck,” spread those great bat-wings of his, and vanished into the sky. 

And now...

There were a lot of things she wanted to say to him. More still she wanted him to say to her. Most of all, she wanted to know what was in that box. 

Because even though she’d thrown her body over his, even though she’d kneed him in the balls and he’d still come back, even though, despite all her coldness and her fury, he  _ kept coming back _ … 

That was the thing that truly baffled her. He’d remembered to get her a present. 

*

Cassian was in a bad mood, and it had nothing to do with his hangover. He had, literally, woken up on the wrong side of the bed. He had his own room in the river-house, and Feyre had even thoughtfully provided stands for all his weapons, but it hadn’t stopped him from stumbling into bed backwards the night before. Rhys had known without asking, because of course Rhys had known - how many times had they drunk themselves into oblivion those days after Under the Mountain, with news of Feyre’s impending wedding all over Prythian? 

The wine had soothed his wounded ego a bit, but today it left him with a headache that was only made worse by the thought of where he was supposed to be in three hours.

He hadn’t seen Nesta since he’d left her in the mountains. It wasn’t like they didn’t keep track - all of them had spies, and Feyre occasionally flew in herself. No visits, though. And Cassian - 

Well, if Nesta decided she no longer cared about him, he wasn’t going to try and make her. He didn’t have a lot of pride left, but he had too much for that. 

A loud knock at the door sent his brain pounding against the edge of his already-sore skull, and he groaned. 

“Breakfast!” shouted Feyre, and he responded by letting out a long string of curses. She cursed right back at him, and he opened the door with a scowl. She only grinned at him.

“Rhys isn’t in good shape either.” 

She flicked his clothes, not the Illyrian leathers but a wool shirt and pants, and sauntered away from him, calling over her shoulder, “Come on and eat. You’ll need your strength today.” 

He couldn’t argue with that, so he strode after her to the table laden with food and surrounded by his brothers and Elain. 

“Good morning,” said Elain cheerily as Cassian slid into his seat, and both he and Rhys groaned. 

“Illyrian babies,” said Feyre through a mouthful of food, which earned her a grin from Azriel.

“How are you still standing?” Cassian asked his brother, looking at the food and trying not to be sick. “You had just as much as us.”

“Just as much as you  _ before  _ you lost your recollection of the night. There were two or three bottles after that.”

“Where’s Mor?” 

“Still asleep.”

“And I hate her for it,” Rhys grumbled into his own plate of food.    


“Would you like some tea?” Elain offered in her quiet voice. “It can help.” 

Cassian couldn’t help but smile at her. A year later, she looked...better. Rosier in the cheeks, and plumper, too. And she talked now. To Feyre, mostly, and Nuala and Cerridwen. But also to Azriel, sometimes to him. And her smile went almost all the way to her eyes now. Perhaps she was finding some small peace. 

He tore his eyes away from the middle Archeron sister as he remembered what he was supposed to do that day. 

“No, thank you. I’ll survive. What I need…”

_What I need, nobody can give me._

“I’ll feel better once I’m in the sky. Excuse me.”

Cassian pushed himself away from the table, ignoring protests from Feyre and Elain, and traipsed back to his room to put on his fighting leathers. He had a feeling that when he faced Nesta Archeron, he was going to need them. When he opened the door, though, Feyre was outside again, chewing on her lip. 

“Cassian…” she began, and he held up a hand to silence her. 

“I’ll be fine, Feyre. I’ve faced worse beasts than your sister.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure about that.” 

Neither was he, but he didn’t say it. 

“Just...let her breathe, all right?” 

He wanted to argue that he’d given her the better part of a year to breathe, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything, because  _ he  _ couldn’t breathe when he thought about facing her. 

“She’s doing well, from the reports. No more drinking, no males.” Cassian couldn’t help the way his head jerked up at that. The little flutter in his heart. “But...she’s Nesta. She’s going to bring the fight.” 

“Then I’ll be happy to provide,” Cassian almost growled, and stalked past his High Lady, out the door, and launched himself into the sky. 

*

Nesta was still in her fighting leathers when the knock came. She frowned at the pile of half-heartedly wrapped gifts on the table and tried to still her heart, beating in her ears. But when she threw the door open, it wasn’t him. Just the dress she’d had to order specially from one of the camp seamstresses. She paid the courier and sent him off, then laid the dress on the chair. She didn’t want to put it on yet. The leathers - they made her feel strong. And she wanted to feel strong when she faced Cassian. 

She walked around the room twenty times before shadow closed over her window, and the knock she was really waiting for came. Nesta squared her shoulders and jutted her chin high. Part of her wanted to crawl under the blanket and never come out. But she was family, like it or not, so instead she crossed to the door and threw it open. 

Neither of them said anything for a long, terse moment. 

Cassian looked - as unfairly beautiful as any of them looked. His hair was windswept, cheeks flushed from the cold. And he stared her down. 

Nobody else, not even Rhysand, met her eyes like that. People were always looking away from Nesta. Always passing her over, for Elain’s gentleness, for Feyre’s spunk. They backed away from her like she was an injured beast. 

And maybe she was. But she felt like more than that when Cassian looked at her. Dangerous. Powerful.

Then he tore his eyes away, shifting his wings, and cleared his throat. “Feyre says you’ve agreed to come for Solstice.” 

The instinct to insult, to drive away, was there. She wanted to slam the door in his face and tell him to get lost. But that was how she would have dealt with things those first hazy days in Velaris, when everything tasted like liquor and smelled like smoke. Now she had a new way of dealing with things. 

And Cassian…

She needed to deal with him. Finally. 

So she raised her chin even higher, and high as it would go, and said, “I’m not dressed.” 

“So get dressed.”

“There’s a reason I’m not dressed.” 

“Which is?” 

Nesta had never been skilled with words. When she was angry, or scared, or hurt, she burned, burned, burned. It felt like all she had done for a long time was burn, until there was nothing left. She wished she could be like her sisters, could find her solace in the quiet, gentle repair of things. 

But she was not quiet, and she was not gentle. She was shadow and flame, and she couldn’t say any of the things she wanted to, so she lifted her chin as high as it would go, and said, “We’re dueling first.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian accepts Nesta's challenge. Lots of Supercharged Staring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting a few more chapters today before family comes in. i'm hoping to get the last 2 or 3 chapters out sometime this week, but it might not be until after christmas! happy holidays and hope you enjoy

“You can’t be serious.” 

Cassian stared down at Nesta, her chin high, nostrils flaring. The blue-gray eyes matching the steel of the rest of her. The last time he’d seen her, she was all angles, sharp bones sticking out from slender shoulders and hips. Now she was fuller, although still the slimmest of them. He let his eyes sweep over her body in leathers. It wasn’t lustful, even if he couldn’t keep himself from noticing the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her thighs…  
Even still. He wore seven Siphons, and she had only been High Fae for less than a year. And she was…

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” 

Cassian made a noise he’d never heard himself make before. Almost a year gone by, and he’d left her alone, like she’d wanted him to, and now…now, she wanted to fight him? What he hated most about it was that it did make his temper flare, it did make his blood boil. 

She knew him. 

On some deep level, she knew him. That’s what hurt more than anything.

“I’d tear you apart,” he managed to say, gesturing at his Siphons. She flicked her eyes over them coolly, no fear in her gaze, and shrugged. 

“Try me.” 

“Nesta…” 

Cassian was tired. Once they’d had a game. Once she’d been a mortal woman who hadn’t backed away from him, and it had been fun. Tantalizing. To hear her taunts, because she may have had a tongue like a dagger, hit him where nobody else could. But he had been stronger than her. He could fly, for Cauldron’s sake. And now…

If Nesta, this Nesta, whose Illyrian leathers looked like they had been sewn onto her body, like she had been born wearing them, if she looked at Cassian and turned her head away, it would break him. 

“I can’t do this with you. Not again. I’ve stayed away, haven’t I? Let’s just go to Solstice and get through the evening, and then you never have to speak to me again.” 

She held him in her cool gaze, and he stared right back. Then she turned away from him, dismissive, and whatever was left of his heart shattered. But then she came back, shoved a sword into his hands, and Cassian thought of a different time her hand had been pressed against his chest, when she’d let him kiss her throat. He wished he could take it back. He wished he could do it again. 

“I’m not asking you to talk to me, Cassian. I’m asking you to fight.” 

She kept the sword against his chest, kept her hand against his chest, but if she felt the way it was suddenly rising and falling, if she felt the way he couldn’t keep away from that gaze like ice, like metal, she didn’t betray it. She parted those pillowed lips slightly, like she wanted to say something more, then seemed to think better of it and shook her head. 

Had she fought, since she’d lopped off the King of Hybern’s head? He didn’t know. Didn’t know anything about her anymore, it seemed. Except that she was here, holding a sword against his chest, and not backing away from him. Cassian was a legendary warrior, and she could make him feel so small. 

And then, it occurred to him, maybe he had made her feel that way too. Maybe all those insults, the way he’d ripped into her for allowing Feyre to keep them alive, all the protecting…maybe he had wanted to shield her so badly, he’d forgotten to let in any of the light. And maybe…maybe she needed to pierce through that shield herself. 

Her own, and his. 

He clasped his hand over the sword. Over her hand. For three great heartbeats, she did not back away. 

Then she stepped back, cocked an eyebrow, and said, “I wasn’t aware it was so hard to get bats into the ring.” 

“No games today. You asked for a fight. I’m not going to go easy.” 

And he wouldn’t. Feyre, Elain…the other Archeron sisters were made of strong stuff, but they required understanding, patience. Nesta…she needed fire. 

_Nesta Nesta Nesta._

An echo. An afterthought. An enchantment. 

She needed fire. Cassian could be that. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Cassian duel. They're both a little bit too turned on by i

He was so _large_. Not just his body, although it was still rippling with muscles and power as he adjusted the sword she’d thrust against his chest. 

But just the presence of him - she wondered if this was what Feyre had felt when she’d met the High Lord. Small and mortal and…unsure. Unsure of everything.

Nesta watched him from across the ring, readying her own sword. She could feel the power coming through his Siphons, but it didn’t scare her. It made her blood sing, the shadows that she carried in her twirling like smoke. She watched him as he tied his dark hair back, and when he met her eyes again, she didn’t need to hear the words. 

He came back. He did not look away from her. 

Nesta didn’t know what she was feeling more of - hurt. Anger. Hope. All together in some kind of whirlpool that threatened to swallow her whole, if she let it. To take her back to that place of smoke and shadows. But Nesta was a taker, Nesta was a blade. Nesta needed to hit things. So instead she raised her sword over her head, gave a great shout, and charged. 

Cassian met her blade with his own, and the sound of steel rang into the air. Into her ears. He looked at her from under the sword, his hazel eyes drawn and pained, and she did not look away even as he slid his blade out and brought it around to her side. She had learned, too, though, and blocked it quickly. Cassian stumbled back, more out of surprise than anything, and Nesta grinned. 

That surprised him, too. 

“What’s the matter?” she taunted. “You didn’t think I was up here just moping around, waiting for someone to take me back to Velaris?”

He responded by lunging towards her, blade first, and she stepped quickly out of the way. She had seen them all fight, how they threw themselves at one another with their great weight, but if they were swords and maces, Nesta was a dagger. Small and sharp and quick and clean. 

“And here I thought you were a warrior.” 

He brought his sword down again, and this time she blocked it, relishing the strain of her muscles against his blade. Cassian’s jaw was taut, his eyes searching hers. 

“What do you want, Nesta?” 

“I told you,” she said breathlessly. “ _I want you to fight_.” 

She landed a fist in his stomach, but it barely made a dent against those hard muscles. He grabbed her arm and wrenched her around, and the pain of it was the most exquisite thing she’d felt, even as she brought her knee back against his groin. That was enough for him to release her, and she flipped around with her sword once more. He blocked her, still groaning, but moving - more quickly now. The Siphons were doing their job. He became more - deadlier, faster. And something was happening to her, too. 

Like they were calling her.

There was clashing steel in the air. In her soul. In Cassian’s eyes. 

When their blades met, their chests heaved. She landed blow after blow, and he did, too. Somehow knowing that she didn’t want to be protected. That she had to feel the pain in all its excruciating sharpness before she could let it go. He swept her leg, and she came down hard on her chin. She bit down on her lip, and metallic blood filled her mouth. She scrambled up and spit it out, giving Cassian a red-stained grin. 

Finally, he smiled back. 

Then brought his sword down again. And again. And again. And again. 

Nesta couldn’t say how long they fought like that. Only that by the end of it, her hair was slick to her head with sweat. She was going to have bruises on her ribs, and she wouldn’t be able to lift her arms above her head for a week after this. And she felt alive. 

Finally, Cassian used the hilt of his sword to knock her down with a hit in the stomach. She hit the ground with an oof, and then the point of his blade was at her throat. She could have knocked it aside if she really wanted to, but he was looking down it at her, and something in the Siphons was…shimmering, almost. She wanted to reach up and touch them, if it weren’t for the blade at her throat. Cassian’s wings twitched as he took her in. All of her. And he did not back away. 

“It’s rude to shove your blade in a lady’s face,” she finally said. 

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not a lady.” 

But he drew the sword aside and sheathed it anyways, offering her a hand up. She looked at it for a moment, dark, warm, and large. Not a shield. Just a hand up. She took it, and when she once again faced him, they stood there for a few long moments, hand-in-hand. Breathing hard. 

Then a shadow passed over the winter sky, and he dropped her hand and turned away. 

“We need to be going soon. You should get dressed.” 

Part of Nesta wanted to argue, wanted to show up just like this, bloody teeth and all. It felt more real than the gown sitting on her chair. But instead she nodded and said, “All right. There are gifts to carry, too.” 

Cassian gave her a sharp look, but she didn’t say anything. Just turned on her feet and left him standing there in the cold to wonder. 

In her cabin, she peeled her leathers off and washed the dirt from her skin, pinching and relishing every red mark along the way. She examined the places her body would bruise, and then heal from it, quicker than her mortal body ever had, with wonder and awe. She washed her hair and then dried it by the fire. 

Nesta burned. But maybe she didn’t need to burn until there was nothing left. Perhaps she was becoming her own kindling. And Cassian…

Well, he was fire. Who could deny that? The three Illyrian brothers - night and shadows and fire. The three Archeron sisters - light and stars and flame. Nesta slid the dress on, relishing the feel of the soft fabric against her skin. It had been a long time since she’d worn a dress. Longer still since she’d worn one like this. 

So Nesta burned, a flame reaching into the sky. She had never thanked Feyre for that. At the time, it had made her so angry. But she understood now. The things she touched…they turned to ash, but they rose from it stronger. So Nesta was flame, and it was time for her to become it. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going to leave this one at here for today, look out for the next few chapters around christmas! (12/23)

Cassian’s knees went a little weak at the sight of Nesta Archeron in her Solstice dress. It was hard to pair the image of her smiling through a mouthful of blood at him to this - pillar of fire, is what she was. 

The dress was as simple and elegant as any of the others she favored, but it was a deep red that trailed into black when it reached the ground. It hugged her full breasts where the neckline plunged too deep for Cassian to respectfully take her in, long sleeves showing off every new muscle she had gained these months in the mountains. Her hair was swept off her proud face, up to reveal the once-rounded ears that now tapered into points. She did not bother to disguise any of the marks he’d left during their spar. The last time he had seen Nesta, she’d been dressed in grey. Ashes and smoke. Now she was a whole bonfire. He swallowed and stared. She jerked up a rough burlap sack.   
“Presents.”   
“Oh.”  
She looked up at the sky, where the sun was already waning. “So? Don’t you have somewhere to drag me to on those bat wings?”   
She was right. She was beautiful, and she was strong, and she was right. Cassian grunted his acquiescence, and unfolded his wings so they cast a shadow over her. Then he took a step towards her. She didn’t step back, so he took another, and another, until his face was so close to hers they might as well be touching. Then he wrapped his wings around her in a circle, and watched the glint of those eyes through the darkness. Unwavering.   
When he spoke, his voice was low, guttural. “Hold on.”   
Hers was the same. “Give me something to hold onto.”  
So he took the bag of gifts from her hand, wrapped his arms around her waist, and shot into the sky. 

*   
Nesta didn’t give Cassian the satisfaction of screaming. Not even as the wind tore through her hair, ice going into the depths of her. She held on, just like he’d told her to. Cassian’s skin was warm and waxy, his scent still raw from the fight. For once, with his wings stretched out around her, the bag of gifts dangling from his arm, she looked down at the land below, and she didn’t feel like the night was going to swallow her. These shadows did not own her. She had taken from them once, and she would again. They wanted to see her go under. But Nesta Archeron always thrust her chin high. Always stayed above water. So she held on. 

*

They landed outside the river-house with a thud. Nesta went stumbling, and Cassian went to catch her around the waist, but she shot him a look that made him snatch his hand back. She hadn’t, at least, pummeled at him while they were flying like she had when he’d taken her up to those mountains. She’d held on. To him.   
They said nothing. Perhaps too afraid, too burdened. Or perhaps they didn’t need to.   
Because Nesta had held on. No insults, no fists. Just breath and wind and the beating of their hearts.   
He extended the bag of gifts to her, and she took it wordlessly, still staring at him. Always staring.   
_Nesta Nesta Nesta._  
He opened his mouth to say her name, to put the final touch on the enchantment, but he couldn’t, because the door opened and Elain came rushing out, barreling into Nesta with a gigantic hug.   
“I’m so glad to see you,” she said, then held Nesta out from her, noting the dress and the presents. “You look good,” she said, and Nesta’s mouth lifted into something like a smile. Cassian shook his head, loosing a smile of his own, and stalked into the house. There, at least, were wine and food. Things he understood. He doubted he’d ever understand the Archeron sisters. As he let the warmth of the river-house embrace him, Feyre slipped past him in the warm hallway. She took in his leathers and the few marks on his face he’d gotten from the spar. She cast an alarmed look to the garden, but Cassian said, “Don’t worry. She’s fine.”   
“What happened?”   
He shrugged, and couldn’t keep the small smile from his face. “She’s Nesta. She wanted to fight.” 

*   
The bravest thing Nesta ever did was step over that threshold. 

She hadn’t expected Elain to be angry, but what she expected even less was Feyre coming out and throwing her arms around Nesta’s neck, too. Feyre, who had always fought to keep them alive. Why had Nesta assumed she would stop fighting now? 

Her sister wiped tears from her eyes as she took Nesta in. 

“You look…”

“Strong,” finished Elain. “You look strong.” 

And for the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever…Nesta felt like it. Feyre released her, stepped back, and said, “Come inside?” 

The hope on her face was like a blow to Nesta’s chest. Feyre had kept them all alive. Maybe it had started out as a half-life. She hadn’t wanted it when it was given to her. But what she knew now…it was warm inside, and her sisters were going in there, and she wanted to be with them. Regardless of Amren, or Feyre’s mate, or even Cassian, Nesta had family. Nesta was family, like it or not. So she just nodded, and followed her sisters into the warmth of the house. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! I'm going to try to finish this before the New Year - fluff is coming I promise!

They were all there. Feyre’s new family. 

Nesta said a quiet, “Hello,” and took a seat on a settee next to Elain. She didn’t expect them to rise in a flurry at her entrance, not after how she’d been to them. But she had to admit it still hurt a little to see them all gathered like this, and that the laughter in the room clearly died down when she entered. There were still no images of her in this house, either. She supposed she deserved that. 

The shadowsinger inclined his head in greeting, his eyes lingering perhaps a bit too long on Elain, and Morrigan and Rhysand both greeted her stiffly. Cassian already had a glass of wine in his hand, and he wasn’t looking at Nesta. She was trying very hard not to look at him. Feyre - Feyre was beaming. She wore the same dress she’d worn last year, that shimmered like diamonds. Like stars. When she took her seat on her mate’s lap, she was so happy. Elain clutched Nesta’s hand, and they shared a small, private look. 

They had been selfish. Nesta had been cruel. If one of them got to be happy, she was glad it was Feyre. Then Elain announced it was time for food, and she followed them to the dining room, where a feast awaited. Nesta sat next to Elain and kept quiet. She didn’t look at Amren or her Summer Court lover, there again. She didn’t throw any jabs at Cassian. She kept her head down, and she ate. Elain offered her a glass of wine. The whole table seemed to be holding its breath. Nesta stared at the red bottle, then said, “No, thank you.”   
They were quiet for a moment longer, and then Cassian launched into a gory battle tale a little too loudly. Nesta allowed herself one look at him. For once, he was not staring at her, instead diverting the attention to himself. Nesta looked down at her food and tried not to smile.   
And when they brought out the cake for Feyre, who looked genuinely surprised anyone had remembered, Nesta let herself smile. This time she did feel his eyes on her, and she met them. The flame of the candles danced across Cassian’s skin, his hazel eyes warm and unwavering from hers.   
He clapped Feyre on the back when she blew out the candles, and then they all funneled into the sitting room with the decorations of pine for presents.   
Nesta still didn’t understand the custom. Maybe she never would. Perhaps she was too cold, too unbending for that. But she watched as her sisters opened their own gifts - Elain had one from every one of them this year, even Amren - and their smiles were enough for her. She was the oldest Archeron, too hard. Too angry. But her sisters - they could be happy here. For tonight, that was enough. So she cleared her throat, smoothed her dress, and said, “I’ve got some.”  
The room fell silent. She could practically feel Rhysand’s protective instinct kick in, his fingers tightening around Feyre’s thigh, so she lifted up her bag.   
“Gifts.”   
“Oh,” said Feyre. Nesta stretched hers out, and she grasped it tentatively.  
“I’m…I didn’t know what to get everyone,” Nesta said. “I don’t really understand it. But I tried.”   
Feyre unfolded the paper around the gift Nesta had brought her, and Nesta found herself chewing her lip as she waited for judgment to be passed. What did she get for Feyre, the High Lady who had everything? She had settled on a set of bone combs in the end. It was all she could procure in the mountains.  
“To put your hair back when you paint,” she explained. She could already sense the disappointment, but then Feyre smiled, and her eyes were misty.   
“Thank you,” she said, and somehow Nesta knew it wasn’t for the combs. It was for being here. For bringing gifts at all. Nesta nodded, and passed the rest of the gifts around.   
For Elain, seeds from the beautiful red flowers that bloomed across the mountains like a blaze of fire in the springtime. She hadn’t the slightest idea what to get for Feyre’s mate or the shadowsinger, so she’d purchased Illyrian daggers for both of them, although she was sure they could stride into any camp themselves and just take one. They both said polite thank-yous and set their gifts to the side. For Morrigan, a fine pewter necklace from one of the finest jewelers in the camp. She doubted she’d ever see the blonde wear it.   
Last, she turned to Amren and took a deep breath. The tiny female lifted an eyebrow at the package that Nesta handed over, but she took it anyways.   
“You call this an apology?” she muttered.   
“Just open it.”   
Nesta wasn’t enthusiastic about the concept of everybody else bearing witness to Amren’s gift, but that was the thing about family, she supposed. They got to see all her bad parts, no matter how willing she was to show them.  
Amren unfolded the paper, took one look at the thing wrapped inside, and threw her head back in cackling laughter. She held up what was inside for everyone to see. A single tooth.   
“Tell me you knocked this out of some Illyrian bastard.”   
Nesta drew herself up to full height and proudly announced, “First day.”   
The room exploded into laughter, and Nesta stilled. They were laughing, all of them, at something she had said.   
Like she belonged there.   
The room seemed to be getting smaller. Suddenly she couldn’t shake the feeling they were laughing at her. All of them. She had been banished to the mountains, after all. There were no pictures of her here. What if she’d been summoned to Solstice, not out of love, but because of pity? Alone. Harsh, cold Nesta. Nesta was a blade, and if you got too close, she sliced. So she was always alone.   
She was better off that way.  
She managed to say, “Excuse me,” before turning and flying out the door. 


	6. Chapter Six

Cassian didn’t go after her this time. Not after what had happened that first Solstice. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He did.  
Nesta had laughed. She had smiled, and laughed, and any illusions he’d had that his heart wasn’t hers, hadn’t belonged to her since the moment she’d first dismissed him that way at her manor, shattered into a thousand pieces.   
He didn’t go after her because he knew now that she would wait until she was ready. That she would make him fight for it. For her.   
Cassian was a legendary warrior. He knew that no battle was won freely, least of all the one for Nesta Archeron’s heart. And she’d asked him to fight her today.   
So maybe he wasn’t the only one at battle here. Maybe she was at battle with herself. She had to do that alone.   
But she had asked him to fight her. And she had held on.   
So Cassian did not go after her. Not just because he knew _she_ needed to come to him. Also because Feyre beat him to it. 

*

“Nesta.”   
Nesta stopped, clenching her fists, feeling her nails dig into her palms.   
“Nesta.”   
Feyre’s voice was pleading, so Nesta slowly turned around to face her little sister.   
“What?”   
“Please come back inside.”   
“Why?”   
“Because I want you to.”   
Nesta stared her sister down. The tattoos on her hand seemed to move in the shadows of the night, and Nesta felt very, very far away. Feyre had saved them, and she’d upgraded her family in the process. She’d chosen these people. How could Nesta stand in front of her and ask for her forgiveness? Accept her kindness?   
When all Nesta had ever been was unflinching. Selfish. Cold. No, it was easier for all of them if she left. If she went back to the mountains.   
“No,” she said, and turned away.   
“Nesta, please.”   
“Why aren’t you angry at me, Feyre?”   
Nesta’s voice was quiet. Deadly.   
“You think I’m not angry?” Feyre was considerably louder. “You think I’m not fucking angry? After you drank yourself into oblivion on our tab, in your shitty apartment, fucking any male that looked your way? What if you’d gotten pregnant, Nesta? What would you have done then?”   
Nesta’s blood chilled. She’d never thought about that. She’d figured the Fae weren’t fertile enough. But it did happen.   
“I destroyed myself, too, you know. I _understand_. You just...Please, Nesta. You’re family.”   
“Not the way they are.”   
Nesta jerked her chin to the warm orange windows, where she could hear loud, forced laughter. Feyre laughed a short, bitter laugh, then hurled something into the snow at Nesta’s feet.   
“Happy Solstice,” she said, then marched back inside the house. Nesta reached down to pick it up and carefully unfolded the green paper. Inside was a locket, and when she opened it, there was a miniscule portrait of all of them. The Archeron sisters, and their father. On the back of the locket there had been engraved a flame, a flower, and a star, intersecting at the edges.   
She’d be willing to bet Elain had one, too.   
Feyre had chosen a new family, it was true. Nesta probably wouldn’t ever feel like she was truly part of it. She’d never truly felt like part of their old one. Too angry, too cold.   
But maybe it didn’t matter what Nesta felt like. Feyre mattered. Elain mattered. Nesta could put up with it for one night, if only to make them happy. Because Feyre…she had chosen them, when she’d kept them alive. Slain that wolf. Nesta looked into the warm hall once more.   
_You’re family, like it or not._  
She’d go back in. Feyre deserved to be happy. But right now…she had spent too long feeling nothing. Right now, she needed to feel the pain. So she sat down on a bench in the snow and finally, _finally_ , let herself cry. 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so many feeelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC IS NOT OVER! Still have one or two chapters to add to it :)

Nesta stood in front of the door. 

She wanted to stride in, throw back her head, and laugh with them. She  _ wanted _ to feel what they were all feeling - the camaraderie, happiness, the  _ love _ . But she had spent so long feeling nothing, if she tried now, she was afraid it would swallow her whole. 

She put one foot on the step, then took it off. Again. And again. 

Inside, the fire was cracking. 

_ Pop. Crunch.  _

Nesta shivered. 

The door swung open, and she stepped back to look into Cassian’s face - not judgmental, or flirtatious, or hurt. He didn’t look anything like she’d seen him before. His brow was draw, mouth in a thin line, eyes - always on her. Always burning. 

“Is it the fire?” he asked softly. 

Nesta didn’t nod. She just took one sharp breath, but it was enough. Cassian’s wings unfolded to circle around her again. A shield. He was careful to leave a little square of light shining in from the top. 

“It sounds like bones.”

Something in Cassian’s posture shifted, and he looked away from her for a brief, fleeting moment. It felt like a rug had been pulled from under her feet. But then his gaze was back to her, quiet and serious. 

“For me, it’s when somebody brings home a bag of groceries. They just drop it on the table and don’t even think about the sound. Like…”

“A body hitting the earth,” Nesta supplied, and the look he gave her confirmed it. 

“How can you stand it?” 

Nesta’s voice was barely a whisper. His wings tightened around her, and she knew what he was going to say next. 

“You were fighting for your home.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “But  _ I  _ wasn’t.”

“What were you fighting for, Nesta?” 

His mouth was inches from hers, hot breath misting in the air. Nesta had fought - for what? 

For Elain. For Feyre. For their father. 

For Cassian. 

But  _ that  _ Nesta - the one who had loved so fiercely it threatened to consume her - she’d broken, somewhere among all those bones. Somewhere in that kiss, as Cassian lay on the battlefield. It was fitting that her first kiss, too, was marred by death. 

She turned away, only to find herself still trapped in Cassian’s wing. He caught her arm and whirled her back around, hand tight on her elbow. His jaw strained, and she could see he was pressing his teeth together as he growled, “ _ Don’t _ .” 

She lifted her chin high, and Cassian’s fingers rose to grip it. She did not back away. 

“Don’t do this to me again, Nesta. I could have died. You could have died.  _ But we didn’t.”  _

He dropped her chin, folding his wings away, and took a step back, running his hands through his tousled hair. 

“Five hundred years on this land, and I’ve  _ never  _ found someone who vexes me quite like you do. I can’t stand to watch it again. I can’t stand to watch you live your life as if you’re already dead.” 

Nesta watched him pace back and forth through the snow, irritation rising in turn with worry. Watched his Siphons. 

“Can’t you see that it was killing us?” he continued, his voice rising. “Can’t you see that it was killing  _ me _ ?” 

“Cassian,” she said sharply, and he stopped dead in his tracks, as if she’d uttered an enchantment. He turned his head to her slowly, a bewildered expression on his face.   
  
“I can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve said my name.” 

She ignored the comment, and took a step closer to him. 

“Say it again.” 

“Cassian.” 

She didn’t whisper it, didn’t shout it. Nesta held his gaze, and stepped closer. Then suddenly Cassian was not looking at her eyes, but the rest of her, the look on his face fierce and hungry and hopeful, and when he lifted them again, there she was. Chin high. 

“Again,” he murmured. 

“Cassian.” This time she said it softly, and lifted a hand to the Siphon on his chest. He got her wrist. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Just let me touch it.”

“Why?” 

Nesta frowned up at him, which tugged a smile from Cassian’s lips, and some small part of Nesta, the part, perhaps, that had died on the battlefield - it wasn’t a fire, wasn’t even a flame, but perhaps the faintest cracking of an ember. But still. It felt a little like coming back to life. 

He released her wrist, and she placed a hand over his Siphon. 

She heard them all at once. 

Every scream, every whimper, every sword plunged in and out of every heart. Every time Cassian’s hands had taken a life. She tugged away, but then strong arms encircled her back, holding her tight. Through all the screaming, she thought she heard a sob. 

_ Felt  _ his nose meet her shoulder, head pressed into her neck. 

Was Cassian feeling this, too? Hearing it? Her hand was still pressed against his Siphon between them, but he was holding onto her too tight. She couldn’t get out. 

“ _ Cassian, _ ” she growled against his ear, and this time she did feel tears against her own exposed skin. If only she could get  _ out  _ \- from him, from this, from the night sky and Feyre and her own cursed, immortal life - 

The screaming continued, but Nesta stopped. She thought. 

When she was mortal, she had loved too fiercely, been vengeful too cruelly. Feyre and Elain had both said things were not  _ different  _ as High Fae so much as  _ more _ . And she was Nesta Archeron. 

Too sharp. Too angry. Too cold. 

All of those things, but then again, none of those things at all. 

Too  _ alive _ . 

And she’d be damned if she was going to let a cauldron or a king stop her from that, then, and she’d be damned if she was going to let some mountains or a fireplace or her sister stop her from it now. 

Nesta Archeron did not bow to Death. She was immortal in body, but more than that - she had faced it, in that Cauldron, low and dark for an eternity. She had come out. Different, yes. But she had come out.

Death bowed to her.

Nesta took a breath, a glorious breath, a reminder that she was alive and this was  _ hers _ , and simply said, with all the force, all the command she could muster, “ _ Silence.”  _

One by one, the screams fell away. One by one, until all Nesta could hear was Cassian’s silent shuddering against her chest and the laughter still coming from inside. She extracted herself enough to take her hand away from the Siphon, then take his face in both hands and bring his eyes back to hers. 

No words. He just gripped her, one hand on her waist, the other on her wrist, and looked into her eyes. His own were still brimming with tears, and she knew what he’d just seen, what he’d heard, like a thousand daggers into his soul. 

“I don’t regret them,” he finally said. “Not a one. But  _ Cauldron _ .” 

He dropped to his knees, landing heavily in the snow. He looked every inch a warrior then. He was not elegant like the High Lord, not slippery like the Shadowsinger. He was large, and strong, and unmoveable. Cassian did not live in the darkness like they did. He was unapologetically alive, refusing to hide, to apologize for the space he commanded, and for the first time in a long time, Nesta saw the beauty in that.

“I think I owe you an apology,” she said, surprising herself. 

Cassian lifted his head, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Would that be for the five hundred years of trauma you just made me relive, or the other years of trauma you’ve put me through? Because I do expect separate ones for each.” With a pause and a grin, he added, “I’ve got some ideas on how you can repay me.” 

But whatever had just happened, Nesta wasn’t in the mood to joke, so she shook her head. 

“I mean for all the things I said before. About you being a bastard-born nobody.” 

He blinked at her, genuinely confused. She only offered a half-hearted shrug. It wasn’t like Nesta had never been hungry. Hadn’t had new shoes, or a bed of her own to sleep in. 

Wasn’t like she didn’t understand exactly where Cassian had come from. 

“It was easier to be cruel to you than admit that you were what I  _ wanted  _ to be like. You came out of nothing to be strong, and important where no matter what, I was still a prize to be married off to the one most willing to tame me.” She tore her gaze away from him. “It is easier to be cruel.” 

He stayed on his knees, but then his head pressed against her stomach, and she felt his fingers lock together behind her own legs. She allowed her fingers to tangle in his hair, to feel the warmth of Cassian’s skin on hers - burning. Always burning. The ember inside of her grew. 

“I am sorry,” she continued, whispering. “For all of it. I can’t hope for forgiveness -” 

Then, suddenly, Cassian was on his feet again, arms around Nesta’s back, and the ember inside her roared into a flame from the way his eyes were on her mouth, her neck, from his grin. 

“Of course we forgive you. All it ever takes, Nesta, is for you to ask.” 

There were a thousand thoughts going through her head with him so close to her, with the lights inside still crackling, but all she could see was  _ him  _ and his stupid smile that made _ her  _ smile no matter how she tried to ignore it, but still she managed to choke out, “ _ Why?” _

And then he kissed her. 

Not the way he had on that battlefield. He kissed her with hunger, with fury. His lips were soft, but the way he pressed her against him, like he might never hold her again - it was different. 

Different from every male she’d had, because they were always more a means to forgetting, and with Cassian, well - 

She would remember this, even if she spent ten thousand lifetimes trying to forget it. She would remember the way his hands gripped her cheeks, the feeling of his scratchy chin against hers, his silken hair in her fingertips and the sound of his wings unfolding, spreading into the sky. The way he kissed her like it was the last thing he would ever do. 

_ No _ , she reminded herself.  _ Like this is the first thing he will ever do.  _

Because he would find her. He had promised her that. Again and again. In each lifetime, he would find her. And he would kiss her like it was the highest honor to be alive at the same time as her.

More than anything, Nesta would remember the way, when they finally parted for breath, he rested his forehead against hers, and said with that same grin, “Why? Because we - because  _ I  _ \-  _ love you _ , you wonderful, infuriating  _ idiot _ .”    
  
He stepped away from her, folded his wings in, and held out a hand. 

“Now, you and I are going to have a  _ very  _ long conversation about whatever the hell happened with my Siphon and maybe a few non-conversations besides -” 

She glowered at him, and his grin widened. “But for now, Nesta Archeron, breaker of hearts, slayer of Kings, giver of terrible presents, will you  _ please  _ come back inside?” 

She knew he didn’t need her to talk. Didn’t need her to say it back. That all he needed was for her to place her hand in his. Together, they stepped back over the threshold and into the warm light. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> big conversations are had, lots of mushy feelings!

_Nesta Nesta Nesta._

With the times she’d said his name, the spell was complete. How she’d held him, even through the terrible screams and sounds she’d somehow ripped from his Siphon - what the hell was _that_? - but right now it didn’t matter. Cassian ran a finger down Nesta’s shoulder blade, exposed by the low cut of her dress, and the way she shivered at the touch was enough to make him forget about anything but the feeling of her lips on his, her fingers tangled in his hair. 

He lifted those same fingers to his mouth and brushed them lightly with his lips. There was something still clutched inside her hand, some sort of necklace. 

“Do you want me to put that on for you?” 

With a breath, she nodded, and deposited the thing in his hand. He peered at it - a locket. He realized with a start this must have been Feyre’s gift to Nesta; he’d seen one on her not long ago. Cassian did not open it, but as he drew the clasp in the back together, he let his fingers brush against Nesta’s collarbone and the back of her pointed ear, and she did not pull away. He leaned forward and whispered, “Are you ready to go back in?” 

Nesta nodded, and Cassian made his way toward the door where he could hear his family bickering loudly over whose present from Mor was the worst, but then Nesta caught his hand. 

“Wait,” she said, and pulled him back to her. He felt the worry kick in and prepared himself to - shield her, to talk her down from something, but then she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to her, kissing him hard. Cassian could not stop his grin as she released him, because it felt as if light was pouring out of every crack within him. 

“What was that for?” 

“Just so you know I meant it.” 

She walked past him silently, without a glance back at him, and he shook his head and pushed himself off the wall. Nesta Archeron was a puzzle, but she was one he would gladly spend his entire life figuring out. 

*

There was a moment, when Nesta stepped into the room, she felt that Feyre would turn around and tell her to get out. That the High Lord or the Shadowsinger would fly at her in a rage for once again ruining their little holiday. Or that Elain would turn her chin away, trying to hide tears in her eyes.   
But none of those things happened. 

  
Instead, the heat of Cassian’s body filled the space behind her, and he gave her a small, gentle push into the room.   
“I need to get back to my seat,” he said, playfully, but not flirtatiously - as if all they’d been doing in the snow was talking. As if something hadn’t just happened - with the Siphon, with them, with her. Elain once more moved over to make room for Nesta, and she took her seat beside her sister, who threaded their fingers together. She touched her own locket, tears misting her eyes, and together, they looked to Feyre, who rose from the spot next to her mate and dropped to her knees in front of them. 

  
Cassian’s voice grew louder, distracting the others from the Archeron sisters, and Nesta was grateful and sure that she wouldn’t take back that kiss if her life depended on it. 

  
Elain reached out a hand to Feyre to join them. 

  
“He would have loved this,” she said gently, and then tears started to slide down all their faces. 

  
“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” Feyre whispered, “but I’m very glad you’re here with me.” She squeezed Nesta’s hand, hard. “Both of you.”   
Nesta squeezed back.

  
She didn’t say much for the rest of the night. Only a few passing words with Amren and her Summer Court lover, who was really much too interested in Amren to be of any interest at all himself. She watched Feyre rejoin her mate and their little family, a picture as perfect as any could be. And this time, Nesta let herself watch Cassian, whose eyes flicked to her regularly, his smile growing wider when they did. Try as she might, she could not help but smile back. 

  
After several such exchanges, Elain elbowed her in the side. “What happened out there?” 

  
“None of your business.”

  
Elain stuck out her tongue. “Maybe I’ll just read your mind.” 

  
Nesta started. The last thing she wanted was Elain digging through those dark corners. 

  
“You can do that?” 

  
“I haven’t tried yet, but who’s to say?” 

  
With a start, she studied Elain’s face, the cock of her brow and the lip she carefully bit down on, and realized -   
“You’re joking.”

  
“Of course I’m joking,” said her sister with a laugh. And Nesta couldn’t help it - she burst into laughter too, the kind that came in great heaves and made her stomach hurt. 

  
Not too alive. Not too anything. In that moment, she felt like just enough. 

  
“What’s so funny over there?” 

  
Feyre pointed at them from across the room, red-cheeked, her wine glass empty in her hand, her mate’s arms wrapped around her stomach, and Elain and Nesta shared a look and then burst into laughter all over again.

  
Finally, Elain rose and laid a hand on the High Lord’s arm. 

  
“I think it’s time for bed.” 

  
He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Feyre. 

  
“I think it is indeed.” 

  
There was a chorus of jeers and boos from the rest of them, which Feyre silenced with an impressive string of curse words, then kissed them all goodnight. When she reached Nesta, she pulled her up and into her arms. 

  
“Thank you. I’m so glad you came.” 

  
“Me, too,” said Nesta, and she meant every word of it.

  
“Well, girl,” said Amren from below. “It wasn’t terrible to see you.” 

  
“Nor you.” 

  
Amren pulled her into a quick, hard hug. 

  
“Come by when you can.” 

  
“I will,” said Nesta, and she meant that, too. Cassian’s words rang in her ears. _Because we - because I - love you._

She hugged Elain goodnight, passing her off to the Shadowsinger to escort her back to her room. The Morrigan nodded at her, and she nodded back, and it was enough for them. Finally, she was left alone in the dying glow of the fire, surrounded by pine and empty wine glasses. 

  
Almost alone. 

  
She turned to the door to find Cassian leaning against the frame, strong arms crossed and eyes burning in the firelight.   
“There’s a room here for you, if you want it.” 

  
She considered the implications, but it must have been clear on her face, because he cleared his throat and said, “Your own room.” With a shrug he added, “Though if you wanted a roommate, I’d be more than happy to oblige.” 

  
Nesta thought about it. About waking up the next morning to Feyre pounding on her door, Elain at the breakfast table. It didn’t sound quite as scary as it used to. But there were still things she needed to do - still wounds she needed to heal. 

  
“Not tonight,” she said, and closed the distance between herself and Cassian. “I need to talk to you, but I don’t want to do it here. This is someone else’s home. I need…” 

  
He took her hand. “Stars and metal and mountains. I understand you perfectly.” 

  
Cassian led Nesta outside and tucked her against his chest. Against him, she was not cold, and she was not afraid. They shot into the night air, leaving the glittering lights of Velaris behind for a harsher, colder place. 

  
With Cassian’s arms around her, Nesta smiled. It didn’t quite feel that way anymore. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Cassian have Important Conversations...one about Siphons, the other one definitely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!! 
> 
> Writing this fic (my first fic ever) has been an exercise - I'm really not used to working within the rules of someone else's world! So sorry if I messed up lore - I googled a lot about Siphons but I couldn't find that much lol. Anyways hope this tides you over while we wait for the nessian book <3 I might continue this with a more *ahem* mature audience in mind, but for the time being I have my own book to get back to writing! Thank you for all your lovely comments and support!

They landed gently in the snow outside Nesta’s small cabin. Cassian thought how much it suited her - unadorned, yet elegant. She shivered in her Solstice dress, and he used his wings to shield her, which earned him a glare.

  
“I’m just trying to keep you warm. Or perhaps you’d prefer another way?” 

  
He wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her back against his stomach, and although she hissed at him while she dug for her key, she didn’t push him away. 

  
He dropped his head against her shoulder and sighed, “ _Nesta_.” 

  
She froze for a moment, hand on the doorknob, but then shook it off as she stepped inside. Cassian paused, hovering at the threshold, and she rolled her eyes and pulled him inside too.

  
“I am going to change,” she announced in her regal manner. “And I expect you to divert your eyes.”

  
Cassian laid a hand over his heart in mock offense. “I wouldn’t dream of looking.” 

  
He sat down in her chair, picked up one of her books, and tried and failed to distract himself as she peeled off the dress. He could only see her bare shoulders over the top of it, but even only that small piece of her was enough to send his mind straight to a very improper place. He rose the book higher, blocking her out entirely. Then one long, elegant finger pushed it down, and he looked into Nesta’s face - angular and beautiful. She had changed into the warmer Illyrian clothes, and he had to swallow at the sight of her.

  
“Enjoying the book?” 

  
“Very much.”

  
“It’s upside down.” 

  
Cassian looked at the book and found she was right. He also found he didn’t care that she knew how much he wanted her, how much she drove him to distraction.   
“I can’t focus around you.”

  
She grasped his chin and tilted it up. “Can you focus long enough to tell me what happened?” 

  
“You mean with the Siphon?” The look in her eyes confirmed the question. “I have no idea. I just know that…I was reliving every life I’d ever taken, and then, suddenly, my own near-death. Like all the death had been pulled out of me, somehow. And then it was just…gone.” 

  
“You mean you don’t…feel it anymore?”

  
“It’s still there, but lighter. The memories aren’t quite so vivid. Pain not so sharp.” 

  
“Hm.” Nesta turned away from him, and Cassian rose to follow her almost involuntarily. All he knew was he needed to be touching her wherever she would let him. 

  
“Do _you_ know what happened?” he asked. 

  
“Not a clue. Just that it felt like it was calling to me, somehow.”

  
“And you? Do you feel lighter?” 

  
She turned around to meet his eyes, suddenly so close to him all he wanted to do was back her against the wall and kiss her again and again. 

  
“I don’t know. I feel…stronger. Less afraid.” 

  
“What did you take from the Cauldron, Nesta?” he whispered, and his hands found her in the darkness of the cabin. 

  
Again she froze at the sound of her name, but when his hands circled around her waist and brought him to her, she simply found his shoulders in the dark and rested her hands against his clothes. 

  
“I think it’s listening to me, somehow. It wasn’t enough to become immortal. I think…maybe I…command it.” 

  
“Command what?”

  
“Death.” 

  
Cassian’s breathing stilled. Her eyes glinted, and he could hear the truth in her words. He didn’t know what that meant for her, or for them, but he knew if there was one person he believed could, it was Nesta. 

  
“I’m not serious very often, but I hope you understand that I truly mean this, Nesta: anybody should count themselves lucky that yours would be the last voice they heard, yours the last face they saw. You are the richness of life, the definition of much and full and plenty, and I regret that I ever made you feel small or unimportant. You’re strong and important and -”

  
“What was in the box?” she blurted. Cassian drew back, bewildered.

  
“What?” 

  
“Last Solstice. You got me a present. What was in the box?”

  
“I was giving a _very_ heartfelt speech, and you’re interrupting me to ask about your gift?” 

  
She lifted her chin high in the darkness. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” 

  
He pulled her tighter against him and brought his mouth to her ear. Her arms slid around his neck, and he could feel her heart beating against his own. 

  
“I threw the box into the Sidra.”

  
“That’s not what I asked you.” 

  
“I have half a mind not to tell you for treating me so cruelly.” 

  
Then it was her turn to draw back and bring his mouth to hers. With nothing around them but the stars and the dark, Nesta did not hide her own desire - it was open-mouthed and passionate, their bodies pressed together, hands roaming. Then she tore herself away and repeated, “What was in the box?” 

  
Cassian sighed. “Illyrians are not kind to females. Never have been. But now…”

  
“I know. I’ve seen. You’re doing good work.” 

  
He allowed himself a moment to bask in a genuine compliment from Nesta, but then continued on with his story. “The Siphons help us channel our power, but obviously, since no females are allowed to train, they get no Siphons. I knew you had taken something from the Cauldron, and I thought perhaps one could help you.” 

  
“A Siphon?”

  
“Two, really. And very small. I put them in earrings. Cost me a small fortune. I didn’t know whether to explain what they were or not, because you don’t wear jewelry very much, and maybe you’d think they were for Amren, but…I wanted to help you. Any way I could.”

  
Nesta didn’t say anything for a terribly long moment. “If I wore one again, do you think it would be like what happened at the river-house? All the screaming?” 

  
“Not if it was empty. Just waiting for you to fill it up.” 

  
Now she turned to him fully, eyes glinting hard. “Do you think I could wear one again?”

  
He nodded slowly. She kept the distance between them. 

  
“Cassian.”'

  
“Nesta.”

  
“When you say my name…” she trailed off. “I think we’re…” 

  
“I know, Nesta. I know we are.” 

  
“I told myself I didn’t want it. That I was mortal and I should remain that way. But do you know what’s funny? I don’t think I actually care.”

  
Cassian’s heart practically leapt out of his chest. “Does that mean…you accept the bond?” 

  
She was silent for another moment. “I didn’t get you a Solstice gift.” 

  
“Nesta, honestly, what is it with the presents?”

  
“I didn’t get you a Solstice gift because I have a different one for you.” 

  
She approached him and laid a hand flat on his chest. Cassian was certain she could feel his heart pounding right through his skin. 

  
“You want my heart, Cassian?” 

  
“Yes.” 

  
“Then you’re going to have to fight for it. Once a week, at sundown.” 

  
“I fail to see how this is a gift.” 

  
“ _Time._ I’m giving you time. I want to accept it, but I’m not like Feyre. Not like Elain. They love so easily. And I…I do, you know. Love you. All of you. But I don’t do it well. And if I’m going to…if we’re going to…I want to go into it right.” 

  
Cassian placed his hand over hers, grinning again. I’m giving you time. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. She wasn’t like her sisters, and he loved every inch of her for it. So if Nesta wanted to fight, he would fight, because her heart was a treasure worth having, even if he had to slay a thousand people to get to it. And it was a treasure worth waiting for. 

  
“I think you just said you love me.”

  
“Don’t let it go to your head.” 

  
“Much too late.”

  
He folded her into his arms and kissed her deeply, knowing that he would wait for her in any world, in any life. If she needed time, he would give it to her. Space, he would give it to her. He would give her anything just to hear her say his name, to hear her say she loved him. He hadn’t known immediately - not the way Rhysand had, or the Spring Court prick with Elain. It had been a slow realization, that he could look at Nesta for the rest of his life and never tire of her. That perhaps, he didn’t need an army to be strong and important. Perhaps he only needed to be that for one person. 

  
For his mate. 

  
“How long do you _really_ think it’s going to take you to get over this whole fighting thing?” he whispered against her neck when they broke apart, pressing his lips against her bare skin wherever he could.

  
“Maybe a week. Maybe months. Maybe years.” There was a slight teasing edge to Nesta’s voice, and he pushed her gently back against the wall. 

  
“I’m going to win. Every time.”

  
“Like hell you are.” 

  
He smiled down at her, remembering her blood-soaked grin from the duel earlier. 

  
“I would expect no different answer from my mate.” 

  
“Not yet.” 

  
“But _when_ we are - because you are a prize any male would die to have, but me most especially - because I love you and I want to do it so well you are never unhappy again, so I am going to fight with all this precious time you’re giving me, and I am going to win - what will they call you?”

  
“They call you Lord of Bloodshed, do they not?” 

  
He nodded, and she smiled. 

  
“Then they shall call me Queen of Death.”

THE END


End file.
